Sword of the Warrior
by KarmaKai
Summary: The former warrior is still haunted by his tormenting dark past, a past that brings nothing but death, pain and sorrow that taunts his dreams like a plague, the screams of his victums still fresh in his mind like a recent event, tormenting his mind and soul never letting him forget the innocent blood that was spilt at his hands and the warrior is left with nothing but remorse.


**Hiya karmakai here! welcome to my first story, i thought i might write it based on the Anime movie "Sword of the Stranger" and this story is about former warrior whos known as Nanashi or No Name and his dealings with his tormenting past as a warrior serving lords who use his talents with a sword and his intent to kill as an advantage for their personal gain, the memories of death still haunt the former warrior to his present day. Any one who hasn't seen the movie, it is a reccommended movie if you like blood, gore and epic choreographed sword fights XD by the way: warrior, stranger and demon are what i refer to nanashi as in the story just so there isn't any confusion.**

**DISCLAIMER: i dont own the sword of the stranger. **

**so without further ado, enjoy XD **

The Sword of the Stranger

It was if he was in a trance, the moment the first drop of blood was spilt of the enemy at the hands of his blade, his gentle soul lost all control of its sanity.

The warrior killed senselessly, as abiding by the commandments of his lord, letting nothing stand in his way, until there was nothing in existence left to conquer.

His blade craved for delicious bloodshed, showing no mercy as he hacked through the opponents one by one, as they came into the shadow of his mirthless weapon.

His victims not evens having the privilege to evoke emotion, such as terror or regret of coming into his range, the sword slashed their vital arteries before they had time to contemplate, sending them falling to their untimely death as it rained dark crimson, staining the earth with the bloody massacre.

He killed as if in were instinct, he enjoyed the shrieks of terror emitted from his victims as the sharp iron blade pierced through the soft flesh, tearing through the vital necessities, resulting in a fatal and instant death….

The warriors slit pupils showed no sign of remorse, enveloped only in madness on his blood-splattered face.

He's twisted sadistic soul relished in inflicting pain and suffering of his quickly deceased enemies.

He was truly the human embodiment of a demon, a red demon.

He did not care who he slaughtered; men, women, children, he obeyed he's every command from his lord without fail. He did it for honour, for glory, for power, desire and furthermore to replenish his soul.

His sword was his soul, if it were ever to part with him that would be the sheer death of him; he'd rather die at the hand of his own blade, or someone else's in a glorified bloody war, He'd die with a purpose. That's what made him in his mind, immortal. He finally discovered purposed for his existence, since he had nothing to live for. He was an orphan, salvaged from a ship wreck with no memory or relatives to belong to, he was most likely dead to the world. He found a resolution by serving lords and high hierarchy, to gain revenge on all the people who didn't give a damn, who treated him like a demon because of his red hair.

He never wanted his sword to be situated on a dusty old shelf, never to see the glory it once manifested in, he revived it with bloodshed. It made him feel alive to be in the heat of battle, in the midst of all the chaos. He slashed away at his last remaining opponents, decapitating their limps before they dropped to the ground in a heap, grinning wildly the warrior absorbed the sweet aroma of the distinct copper like smell of Blood, mixed with the cold sweat of the once alive soldiers, the smell was heavily potent in the air, It was the smell of Death.

Then it appeared to be just him, the lonesome warrior on the field, the demon smirked amusingly, as he stood in the now eerie quite field, standing amongst his fallen enemy, only the sound of the howling wind was heard around the dead silence of his deceased audience.

Blood was flowing from the wounds of the dead soldiers pooling around the warriors feet, creating a river of red.

The warrior grinned and licked his blade saturated with the bloody remnants, before collapsing to the ground in hysterics of bone-chilling laughter, giving in to his insanity and intent to kill; he let it envelop him like a poison as he flailed in masses of sprawled corpses and blood. Enjoying the sweet pleasures of blissful carnage-

The Stranger jolted awake, sitting up from his unconscious state, his chest was heavily heaving like he hadn't been breathing for minutes, his heart was beating violently against his rib cage as his shaken self scanned his surroundings and he found himself not lying on a blood-bath field amongst dead bodies but in the dark caverns of a cave. The stranger shuddered as the cold damp breeze swept in through the cave entrance, making his breath clear in sight as it touched the ice of the air.

The stranger sighed in relief as realisation that his dream wasn't reality swept through him, he grabbed his weapon by his side and inspected it, the blade of the sword glimmered all different shades of blue in the dim moonlight shining through the base of the cave, he never used to think a blade with such beauty could behold such misfortune, pain and suffering, if you look at the reflection in the blade you can still hear the distant cries of pain and sorrow to whom the sword had befallen upon. This sword was the only memorabilia of his past life as a warrior; his sword has been through countless battles of bloodshed that still haunt the former warrior to this very day. The stranger signed as he rested his arms on his knees and held his head between his hands, his breathing began to slow to calm, and his heart rate started a steady pace, leaving the stranger to dwell on his tormenting thoughts.

The dream was only a recollection of his dark past; he had them frequently as if the innocent souls he slaughtered were twisting his mind and soul suffocating him in sorrow and misery, reminding him never to forget their innocent blood he had split when he was in his prime. Their screams of terror and pain that he used to enjoy now tormented him to the very core, their shrieks were like insects digging deep into his flesh and making his skin crawl, he could never be rid of their presence. Blood was on his guilty hands and he could never wash it off even in the afterlife.

He looked at the bloodstained cloth wrapped around his sword; it was tired so he couldn't draw his sword. Since he butchered the life of his closest friend at the orders of his lord for treason he swore never to use the blade for bloodshed again. The cloth was from his friends robe drenched in blood after their dying moments. The knot acted like a pray to the warrior and as a taunting remembrance of why he must never use his blade or be used by a tyrant lord for his abilities with a sword.

He rubbed the sleep from his dreary eyes and looked at the sleeping figures beside him. The boy and his dog were both sleeping soundly in each other's presence, the stranger smiled at his company.

He knew he had sworn never to serve someone for the gain of bloodshed, but in truth the boy, Kotaro was just like serving a lord or a master, the stranger served only for the boys' well-being safety and protection from the frequent danger he flees and in the process the stranger developed a stronger bond with the boy. Kotaro was the only person that the stranger would draw his sword for.

The stranger smiled contently at the fond memories they had on their travels when the stranger was escorting Kotaro and his dog Tobimaru to the temple for his safety and the stranger acted as a bodyguard protecting him from the Chinese foreigners and also the Japanese warriors. After the journey, his acquaintanceship with Kotaro formed into friendship, even though the stranger thought it hard to believe himself he actually enjoyed having the boy in his company, despite the fact that he thought the boy to be a brat and a down right hot-head, the stranger started to re-evaluate his life and spending time with Kotaro and Tobimaru made his dark twisted past begin to fade away, and the hole in his black heart began to mend, and he felt somewhat complete. He ruffled the boys' hair while holding his blade close. He didn't care at all by the haunting memories that still bear within him. The only thing that he lives for now is the ensured care and protection of the boy until as long as he lives.

**Hope you enjoyed, what did you think? hated it? loved it? **

**R&R and**** criticism are much appreciated XD Thankyou**

**-Karmakai **


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